I Gripped Him Tight
by Lampito
Summary: It's what Castiel did, while saving Dean from himself...  no, it's NOT slash, you naughty naughty Destiel fans, get your minds out of the gutter at once.  Now turned into a series of unrelated one-shots.  Until someone slaps me to make me stop.
1. Down Time

Aaaaaargh the plot bunny attacked me in the shower and won't leave me alone getitoff getitoff getitoff OHGOD ITS TEETH ARE IN MY LEG AAAAAAARGH GETITOFFMEEEEEEEEE!

**TITLE:** I Gripped Him Tight

**RATING:** T. Just in case.

**BLAME:** Sleep deprivation. Plot Bunnies. Global warming. Artificial colourings and additives. I really should go to bed.

* * *

><p>It had started off so well: some down time between Hunts, to wind down, and catch a breath...<p>

It was a beautiful day. The lake was picturesque, the small jetty was isolated and peaceful. He had beer in the cooler, a line in the water, and he'd had a couple of bites already. Why Sam would want to spend a day like this indoors, poring over dusty old books, where the librarian wasn't even hot, was beyond him. Maybe his little brother was an alien. Maybe he was a robot. Maybe he was a pod person. Maybe he had never recovered from the nasty dose of Education he'd suffered in his late teens and early twenties...

Dean sighed, adjusted the ridiculous hat on his head, and opened another beer. Life was good.

Until he managed to knock his tackle box into the water. Without even spilling his beer. Damn.

Fortunately, it remained upright and floated. So all he had to do was reach down, and grab it, if he could just get a hand to the handle on the lid...

"Aaaaaargh!" He slipped. He splashed. He thrashed. He cursed.

_Flap-flap_

**...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... **

_Flap-flap_

"Hello, Sam."

"Yikes!" Sam had returned to their motel and just put down the cup of coffee he'd just made, in preparation for settling with a book, when Castiel suddenly appeared much closer than human custom dictated was appropriate. "Jesus, Cas, how many times... huh?"

Sam's eyes boggled. Castiel was holding Dean by the scruff of his shirt. Dean was soaking wet, and dripping on the carpet, a mournful look on his face. He still clutched his beer bottle. He gave his brother a sheepish little wave. "Hi Sammy."

"I have brought your brother back. He should change out of his wet clothing before he resumes his angling. I must go now. Goodbye."

Sam's mouth opened and shut a few times. "Er, Cas, what the hell just happened?"

The angel turned a serious expression to Sam, and answered briefly before disappearing.

"I gripped him tight, and raised him from perch fishin'."

* * *

><p>Pray to your gods (or even to the Living Sex God, if you must) that the plot bunnies go away...<p> 


	2. Breakfast

…damned plot bunnies, this one fell out of the box when I went to make my porridge this morning…

* * *

><p><em>Flap-flap<em>

"Dean"

"Nrrrrrrygl."

"Dean, it is now afternoon. It is time to get out of bed."

"Noooooooo, please Cas, just leave me here to die."

"You are not dying, Dean. You have a hangover."

"Cas, please, don't breathe so loudly…"

"Dean, you have not been eating properly, and yesterday evening and indeed early this morning you imbibed copious amounts of alcoholic beverage."

"Too busy to eat. Then too drunk. Now too hungover. Go away."

"You are dehydrated, and in need of nutrients. Ingestion of some wholesome food will facilitate your recovery, along with some over-the-counter analgesics, perhaps."

"Thank you, Florence Nightmare. Now shoo. Don't flap too loudly."

"I have instructed Sam to prepare a poached egg on whole-wheat toast, and I have procured some fresh juice, and a supply of ibuprofen tablets. You will accompany me to the kitchen to have a very late but much needed breakfast."

"Cas, I really don't feel like…"

Castiel grabbed the bedclothes, and flung them back. "It was not a request."

_Flap-flap_

**...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... **

_Flap-flap_

Sam was just manoeuvring the egg out of the saucepan and onto the toast when Castiel appeared, holding a very pale-looking Dean upright by the scruff of his shirt. His older brother moaned pitifully. Bobby walked into the kitchen in search of coffee, and checked at the sight of a terribly hungover Winchester being held up like a mewling kitten by an angel wearing a concerned expression.

"Boy, you look like hammered shit. How the hell did you coax him down here?"

Castiel deposited Dean on a kitchen chair, and answered the old Hunter in a serious voice.

"I gripped him tight, and raised him, for nutrition."


	3. Not Fit To Drive

…and this one jumped out and bit me on the hand when I went to turn on my 'puter…

* * *

><p>Dean smiled goofily to himself, as he made his way, a little unsteadily, back to the Impala. A good night all around: he'd hustled some pool, and come away several hundred dollars more solvent than he'd started, he'd drunk some very interesting bourbon, and had acquired the phone number of a very friendly young lady with a come-hither smile and a truly great ass…<p>

He opened the door, getting the key into the lock on the second try, and slid into the driver's seat, patting the steering wheel happily.

"It's all good, Baby, just take me home now, before Sam starts worrying…"

_Flap-flap_

"Dean."

"Hey Cas!" He was too happy with his situation right now to raise his usual objection to having his personal space invaded before he could even close the door. "I'm just goin' back. Wanna join me and Sammy for a night-cap?"

"I believe you have had enough liquor to drink already," intoned the angel, frowning slightly. "In fact, I do not believe you are in a fit state to drive safely."

"Nah, I'm fine," Dean assured him, patting the wheel again. "My girl looks after me. We've been here a week, she knows the way."

"Dean, this a car. An inanimate object. You are intoxicated. You should not drive." Castiel held out his hand. "Give me the keys."

"No," said Dean, crossing his arms and pouting.

"Dean, give me the keys."

"No."

"Give me the keys, Dean."

"No."

"Dean…"

"Shan't!" With a pout that would put a spoiled four-year-old to shame, Dean stuck his tongue out at the angel, and made to start the engine.

Castiel's hand covered his own on the key.

"Dean, let go of the key."

"No!"

"Let go of the key."

"No!"

"Let go of the key this minute."

"No! It's my car!"

"Dean, take your hand off the key."

"No! OW! Noooooooooooooo!"

One at a time, Castiel grabbed Dean's fingers, and prised them from their death-grip on the key. Even a sober Winchester was be no match for an angel's iron grasp. He pulled Dean from the car, ignoring the outraged squawks.

_Flap-flap_

**...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... **

_Flap-flap_

"Aaaargh!" Sam jumped backwards as Castiel appeared in their motel room, holding Dean upright by the scruff of his jacket collar. Dean wobbled slightly, hiccuped, and smiled lopsidedly, waving unsteadily to his brother. "Hi, Sammy!" he chirped.

"I have brought Dean back," Castiel told Sam. "I judged him too inebriated to drive safely; it was necessary to remove him from his car." He tossed the keys to Sam, and lowered Dean onto his bed.

Sam stared at the keys. "Wow," he commented, "That's good work. How the hell did you persuade him to leave his Baby behind?"

As he turned to leave, Castiel explained,

"I gripped him tight, and prised him from ignition."


	4. I Do Not Wuv Hugs

…this one was in my lunch box, my bloody lunch box, hiding in my _sandwich_…

* * *

><p>Call it a Hunter's instincts, call it well-informed hunches, call it deduction based on long years of practice in dealing with demonic scum, and knowing how their vicous, scheming minds could work. Call it a miracle, if you really wanted to. The end result was the same: with barely any intel to go on and time running out, Dean's series of apparently baseless guesses as to where the demons had taken the fledgling angel, what they planned to do, how to break past their warded perimeter and how to disrupt the ritual and send them all back to the Pit without harming the tiny being they had abducted had been spot on, and the rescue plan he implemented on the run had been flawlessly effective.<p>

"Guys? Guys!" Sam lowered his gun when he saw that it was indeed his brother and Castiel emerging from the greasy green smoke billowing from the abandoned building. He sagged in relief when he saw that they were unscathed, and Castiel was carefully holding a tiny, blanket-wrapped bundle. As they approached, he heard Castiel apologising.

"I am sorry, Dean."

"Hey, it's okay, Cas - it's hanging around with Sam that's corrupted you."

"I believe that I was temporarily overwhelmed by my relief when I saw that Menariel was unhurt."

"Just don't make a habit of it, dude."

"I will not. It will not happen again."

"Er, is everything okay?" asked Sam. Dean gave him a wide, shit-eating grin.

"Absolutely! The fuglies are toast, the angellette is safe - he's a cute little guy - and I'm ready to celebrate with copious amounts of alcohol, provided Mr Gropy here can keep his hands to himself." He sauntered off in the direction of the Impala, Sam and Castiel falling in behind him.

"Er, Cas," asked Sam hesitantly, "What did you do?"

"I'm afraid I committed a breach of Dean's personal space," confessed Castiel, jiggling the baby angel slightly as it gurgled happily and waved chubby arms. "When I saw that Menariel was alive and safe, I was overcome with gratitude and admiration for your brother, and his skill as a Hunter. I believe that I am guilty of initiation a 'Chick Flick Moment'. Dean was most articulate in explaining that he does not 'wuv hugs'."

"Oh, dear," sympathised Sam, "He doesn't like those at all. What did you do?"

Castiel looked slightly sheepish. "I gripped him tight, and praised his intuition."


	5. There'sh Noshing Wrong With Me

…So this afternoon, I opened up the autoclave at work and there's this frigging plot bunny, sitting in one of the trays! How the hell did it survive a 30-minute cycle?

* * *

><p>"Dean, you are in pain. You ought to seek a professional opinion about this."<p>

"There'sh noshing wrong, Cash, I'm fine."

"You are not fine. You are in pain, you have eaten nothing but a few mouthfuls of mashed potato for three days, and that only with wincing. It could be an infection. It is unlikely to improve without intervention."

"Cash, there'sh noshing wrong with me."

"If you are not willing to let a qualified professional examine you, perhaps I can be of assistance. Let me have a look..."

"No! Go away! Shtop it! I'm fine!"

"Dean, we have established that you are not fine. Please, just open your mouth, and..."

"NO! I shed no! Leave me alone!"

"Dean, you are being unreasonable. You cannot neglect your health like this. Denial will not help. If it is an abscess, it needs attention, either medical or heavenly. Now open your mouth."

"No."

"Open your mouth, Dean."

"No."

"Dean..."

"Mm-mmm."

"You are being extremely childing about this. I wish to assist you."

"..."

"Dean, I am an Angel Of The Lord, A Warrior Of Heaven. I would rather not, but I can make you."

"Bite me, Feathe-aaaaAAAAAAAAARRGH! AAAAAARGH! Sto' tha'! Sto' it! Creefy! Creefy angel! Led go! Led go! Righd now! AAAAAAAAARGH! Led GO! LED GO O' 'E, YOU 'ICK! AAAAAAR - ... "

"There. It was an abscess on a molar. I have healed it. How does it feel now?"

"Mumblemumble mumblegrumble creepyfriggingangel mumblegrumble..." *stomp stomp stomp stomp* *_SLAM_*

"Whoa! Good morning to you too, big bro... what's his boggle, Cas? Toothache no better?"

"It was an abscess. I healed it for him, but he is not at all grateful. He was most immature and unreasonable. He would not even open his mouth; I'm afraid I had to take assertive action for his own good."

"Er, Cas what did you do, exactly?"

"I gripped him tight, and gazed at his dentition."


	6. Oriental Engine Of Impending Death

…I swear, it fell out of my helmet when I picked it up...

* * *

><p>"Dean, what is the purpose of this wrecked vehicle?"<p>

"This is not a wrecked vehicle, Cas, this is... My Project! Sam keeps saying I need an interest beyond Hunting, so... ta-dah!"

"A foray into abstract sculpture was not what I would have expected you to choose as a relaxing pastime. However, such an artistic pursuit is far more wholesome than rampant fornication, and it may in fact be therapeutic for you to explore the creative aspects of your psyche."

"Cas, I'm going to fix it up, and ride it! It'll be fun!"

"It appears to be damaged beyond salvage."

"Nah, she's all beat to hell, but structurally sound. More or less. These were The Big New Thing when they came out in '84. The Grandmammy of all modern sports bikes."

"Sam will be unhappy when he finds out about this."

"Sam's unhappy about just about everything and everyone I do."

"He will be unhappy that you have spent money on this."

"I didn't buy it, Cas, I, er... acquired it."

"Dean Winchester, I will be most disappointed if I discover that you have broken The Eighth Commandment, you usual approach to fiscal matters notwithstanding..."

"I found it tangled up in a pile of junk - nobody wanted it. It's not theft, Cas, it's... recycling. Remotorcycling, even."

"Motorcycles are dangerous conveyances. I must insist that you dispose of this item at once, for your own wellbeing."

"Hey, which bit of 'It'll be fun' don't you understand?"

"Dean, thousands of motorcycling fatalities occur every year in this country alone, and many times that number are injured, sometimes permanently disabled."

"Geez, Cas, and my life _isn't_ dangerous?"

"If you die in a fall from this Oriental Engine Of Impending Death, it will be a non-occult, non-supernatural death. You will be non-occultly, non-supernaturally dead. I will be unable to intervene."

"Hi guys, Bobby sent me to... holy crap, what is that?"

"Say hello to my new hobby, Sammy!"

"What the...? Dean, it's a pile of junk! You'll never get this running! How much money did you waste on this crap?"

"He did not buy it, Sam - he claims to have 'acquired' it."

"You mean he stole it."

"No, Sammy, I acquired it. Adopted it. Rehomed it."

"How is 'acquiring' it different from stealing it?"

"It's very different. Nobody wanted it."

"You can't keep it. You'll kill yourself. Cas, tell him to get rid of it."

"Listen to your brother, Dean. He is correct. These machines are an unacceptably dangerous mode of transport. I must insist that you dispose of it."

"When did you ladies join the Fun Police? Get outta here, I got some work to do."

"Cas, he's going to kill himself! Do something!"

"Dean, you cannot keep this motorcycle. If need be, I shall smite it."

"Like hell you will... hey, let go of me! LET GO!"

*****SMITE*****

_*WHOOMPH*_

"NOOOOOOO! You killed my bike, you... assbutt! It's, it's... melting... fine, I'm going inside." _*stomp stomp stomp stomp*_

"What are you idjits doin' out here? Can I smell something burnin'? Why did Dean just go stompin' on upstairs with a face like thunder? God's tits, Castiel, what did you do?"

"I gripped him tight, and razed his acquisition."

* * *

><p>The Oriental Engine Of Impending Death is what a colleague used to call my bike when I was a post-grad. Just because at one conference I would back him up to the room she was sleeping in every morning and start him up while she was still in bed. Some people.<p> 


	7. You Are Not Ronnie James Dio

…This plot bunny fell out of a Black Sabbath CD when I opened the case...

* * *

><p><em>"Sing me a song, you're a singer..."<em>

Castiel let out a small sigh.

_"Do me a wrong, you're a bringer of evil..."_

Dean was working on his car. Dean was happy. Dean was... singing.

_"The devil is never a maker..."_

For want of a better word. What he lacked in vocal finesse, he made up for with volume.

_"The less that you give, you're a taker..."_

Castiel liked music. He had heard the music of Heaven, the Choir singing unto his Heavenly Father. He had marvelled at Earthly voices too, from choirs in the grandest cathedrals of Europe, to a father singing to his giggling sons as they urged the herd back towards the village. Even some of the music that Dean insisted on playing in the Impala was skilfully, evocatively performed.

Dean was currently murdering one of those songs.

"Dean."

"Hiya Cas, how you guys doin' with that grimoire?"

"The translation is proceeding slowly. I have been dispatched to relay a request that you stop... singing."

"Why?"

"Bobby and Sam are finding the noise intrusive and distracting. Bobby told me to 'Get out there and stop him torturing that tone-deaf cat'. Sam professed that he would rather gnaw through his own radial artery than listen to your... singing."

"That's because they don't appreciate good music."

"I am also finding the noise intrusive and distracting."

"That's because you don't appreciate good music."

"Dean, I do appreciate good music. This is good music. Ronald James Padavona was an astonishingly talented vocalist. His version of it is most evocative. Your version is not."

"What?"

"Very few people are gifted with a truly aesthetically pleasing singing voice. You are a Hunter without equal. Your talents do not run so deeply towards the performing arts."

"What are you trying to say, Cas?"

"What I am trying to say, Dean, is that your True Voice is making my vessel's ears hurt, and I fear that it may be damaging my brain. Please stop defiling the memory of Mr Padavona."

"Well, sucks to be you, because I won't."

"Dean, I do not think that you realise exactly how... annoying your singing can be."

"I don't think you realise that I don't care."

"Dean, stop singing. You are defiling this song."

_"And it's on and on and on..."_

"Dean, the noise you make is truly appalling."

_"Heaven and Hell..."_

"Dean, I mean it. You are not Ronnie James Dio."

_"The lover of life's not a sinner..."_

Castiel was, by nature, a patient creature, not easily moved to aggravation. But some things would try the patience of an angel.

He clapped one hand over Dean's mouth, and his True Voice rang out.

_**"DEAN WINCHESTER BE SILENT!"**_

The ground shook. A window broke. A stunned pigeon fell from a tree. Dean's eyes bugged.

Sam wandered out of the house. "Hey Cas, did you... oh, good, you finaly got him to shut up." He checked at the stunned expression on Dean's face; the imprint of Castiel's hand was still quite clear. "Er, Cas, what did you do?"

Castiel put his hands in his pockets, looking a little sheepish about his outburst.

"I gripped him tight, quite crazed by his rendition."


	8. I See Orange People

…They're everywhere, they're everwhere! I see plot bunnies EVERYWHERE! Damned things. I'm clearly being pun-ished for my sins.

(My other stories don't have puns in them, I promise. They do have cute puppies, Sam making bitchfaces, Dean's pants getting torn off, Castiel sitting in Dean's bath in his trench coat, suggestively-shaped vegetables... Dean even runs nekkid down the stairs at Bobby's in one, if you're into that sort of thing. Also Sam's Award-Winning Portrayal Of An Inconsolable Dumped Gay Man. A Hellhound with a weak bladder, and a fondness for fried chicken wings. Lewd older ladies reminiscing about the shapeliness of Bobby's legs when he was younger. An adorable, elderly, flatulent German Shepherd who doesn't seem to realise that he's dead. A werewolf who screams the house down when she finds a nekkid Winchester in her bed (he chases her up a tree). Did I mention the cute puppies? Go read one of them if it's all getting too much.)

* * *

><p>Allie-Rae Wigginton, beauty therapist, had spent an afternoon doing a manscaping makeover on her boyfriend, only to have him ditch her at the eleventh hour and go to their high school reunion with another girl. She'd blown his head off, then turned the gun on herself. She was responsible for the abduction of several ridiculously attractive men, who'd turned up dead. Exfoliated, double-cleansed and extracted, scrubbed, waxed and moisturised, but still dead. When salting and burning the body didn't stop the disappearances - the last guy had been pedicured to death, how the hell did that even happen? - they went looking for the thing that was keeping her angry ghost tethered.<p>

Dean shone his flashlight around upstairs at Pretty Polly's Primping Palace (Discretion assured: a bit of shoosh about your zhush), and shuddered as he took in the strange equipment and utensils. It reminded him of Hell. The gently steaming pot of wax was seriously creepy...

"Hello, gorgeous," a voice behind him purred. He spun around, to be confronted by the ghost of the late Allie-Rae: nail extensions that would frighten a tiger, more make-up than Marilyn Manson impersonating Marcel Marceau, and a fake tan that made her look like a sad, slightly dumpy carrot. Also, the gaping crater in her head was difficult to miss. She smiled and actually clapped her hands together. "Aren't you just a delicious-looking piece of manhood. You'll do very nicely."

"Sorry, sweetheart, I only do live ones," he smirked raising the salt-loaded shotgun.

She was suddenly beside him, batting the gun away, smiling in a totally stalkerish way, grabbing him and dragging him back towards her lair. "He'll be so jealous when he sees me with you," she told him excitedly. She pursed her lips, examining his face. "You have the most wonderful bone structure." She threw him backwards into a chair, and advanced on him with a gunk-loaded spatula. "But we really ought to do something about those eyebrows."

**...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... **

"I don't even know what we're looking for," griped Sam, seeking any item that was keeping the spirit earthbound.

"Perhaps it is an accessory, or piece of jewellery," suggested Castiel. He disappeared as they heard the blood-curdling scream from upstairs.

_Flap-flap_

**...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... **

_Flap-flap _"Let him go."

The ghost paused in her attempt to manscape Dean, and scowled at Castiel. "He's mine!" she shrieked. "He's going with me! They'll ALL be so jealous, because he's with ME!"

"No," the angel told her, gazing levelly at her as he pulled Dean off the chair, and put his arms firmly, possessively, around the bewildered Hunter. "He is with me."

The ghost's expression went from confused, to horrified, to despairing. "Noooooooooooo!" she wailed, erupting in tears, "Oh, why is it always the attractive ones, that's the third one in a row!" She disappeared in a burst of hysterical disappointment.

"Dean?" Sam came running up the stairs. "Dean! Are you okay?"

"Yeah, Sammy,"sighed Dean shakily. "Man, that was close, she wanted to rip off half my eyebrows! Er, Cas... personal space?"

"My apologies. It was a necessary deception." The angel released his hold on Dean and stepped back.

"It was?" the Winchesters chorused.

Seeing their confusion, Castiel explained his actions.

"I gripped him tight, which fazed the dead beautician."


	9. I Can Has Deanburger?

…A plot bunny reached out of the monitor and ripped this one directly out of my brain. I blame Shit-Me Friday.

* * *

><p>Castiel arrived as soon as he heard the desperation in Sam's prayer.<p>

"What happened, Sam?" he asked without preamble.

Sam was tapping away desperately on the laptop. "I don't know!" he wailed. "One minute he was ego-surfing, then..."

Castiel cocked his head. "What is 'ego-surfing'?"

"Searching the internet for references to yourself. Usually he just goes to a Supernatural site, and searches for M+ stories, but now..." he waved a hand helplessly at the screen.

"Tell me what happened, Sam."

"He was sniggering at something, then this, this, _hole_ opened up in the screen and, and, and it kind of sucked him _right into the laptop_!" Sam typed some more. "And now... _this_."

Castiel peered at the YouTube video, titled 'Happy Now? Good. Have Fun And Stop It With The Bunnies.'

**...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... **

There was a strange _'shchloooop'_ noise, and Dean found himself sprawled on a grey carpet in an unfamiliar living room. A German Shepherd regarded him seriously, then kissed him on the nose.

A tired-looking woman sprawled on the sofa, notebook on her lap. "Well, bugger me," she mused, "It worked."

Dean jumped to his feet. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded.

"Ooooh, no," she told him, taking another drink of her tea, "I'm not telling you my real name. You'll make fun of me."

"Where the hell am I?" he demanded.

"In my lounge room, although elf voted for somewhere with a large bed. I'd watch her if I was you. She arrived with a carry bag from Sexyland. Okay, ladies, he's here," she called. Several more women came hurrying into the room.

"Ohhhhh, it's him! It's him!" trilled aeicha.

"Ooooh, see how... _substantial _he is," mused Bartlebead, prodding experimentally at a bicep.

"Meow, I think I'll twine around his legs," purred PaulatheCat.

"I know what I'd like to twine around," leered poestheblackcat.

"Stand aside, there is snorgling to be done!" declared elf. She paused and frowned. "Why does he still have clothes on?" she demanded.

"Make her share!" Paralesky stamped a foot, glaring at elf, "Lampito, make her share!"

"Where's Sam?" pouted Ciya.

"Yes, I thought we talked about how some gratuitous Sam nudity would make you a better writer," prompted Leahelisabeth.

"Gratuitous nudity and the stretch emo were not part of the deal," growled Lampito, "Now, here he is - so you lot stop it with the plot bunnies."

"You could at least get rid of his shirt..."

"What the hell are you, some sort of cross-roads demon?" asked Dean, bewildered, slapping another prod away as a chorus of 'Ooh's and 'Aah's ebbed and flowed.

"Oh, stop whingeing, or I'll write you married to Ronnie again," Lampito snapped crossly, calling up her dog and leaving. "You'll have more fun tearing his kit off yourselves," she commented. "I'm going out. Don't leave stains on the carpet."

They circled like sharks around a whale carcass, and closed in...

**...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... **

"Cas, DO something!" shrieked Sam, as his brother's ragged screams and ragged clothing emerged from the scrum.

Cas appeared to be muttering something under his breath, then he reached his hand _into_ the screen, and _yanked..._

Dean came flying out of the laptop display, still screaming, chocolate body paint smeared across his torso.

"Dude!" cried Sam in relief, quickly following his outburst with aversion of his eyes and muttering "Oh, man, put some pants on,", throwing his brother a towel.

Dean looked around wildly, then relaxed when he saw where he was. "Oh, God, it was terrifying," he shuddered, "They had this bag of _stuff_..." He noticed Cas. "Was that you?" he asked. "This great big hand grabbed hold of me, and then I was back here."

Castiel nodded seriously, and explained,

"I gripped you tight, and saved you from fanfiction."


	10. A Bunch Of TreeHugging Hippie Crap

This one is All Leahelisabeth's Fault...

Tonight, we tackle that difficult question - can Lampito write G.S.N. (Gratuitous Sam Nudity)?

* * *

><p>Bobby figured out later that the witch's amulet carried a curse with a time-delay fuse. It wasn't until after they'd ganked her and torched her altar, when they were bickering again and Dean called Sam a 'long-haired happy-clappy, bareass-dancing, flower child hippie' while telling his baby brother he needed a haircut, that the damned thing triggered.<p>

"Why?" demanded Sam, the sunny smile on his face clouding for a moment. "Why should I? Just because you want me to? What if I don't want to look how you want me to? Why should I conform to your norms, your standards? I want to be me! I want to be different!"

To which Dean could only reply, "Sam, shut up and put your pants back on..."

Okay, so it was his own fault that the first derogatory thing he'd said to his brother had resulted in Sam downing trou and singing 'California Dreaming' while dancing around the witch's living room wearing nothing but a smile and a large sunflower behind one ear, but that didn't make it any easier to deal with.

Thankfully, it was the middle of the night, so getting a singing, clapping, dancing and _OH GOD NAKED_ giant into the Impala was done under the cover of darkness, not made any easier by the fact that Dean had to manhandle his brother whilst trying not to actually touch him, because, hello, _OH GOD NAKED_. Getting him into their motel room wasn't too difficult; it was getting him to stay inside that proved difficult. Apparently, long-haired happy-clappy, bareass-dancing, flower child hippies prefer to do their dancing outdoors. In a state of mortification, he was forced to tackle, manhandle, and otherwise make contact with his _OH GOD NAKED_ brother in ways that would give him nightmares for weeks.

"You cannot go outside like that, Sam," stipulated Dean, averting his eyes, "Which bit of 'You - Are - Buck - NAKED!' do you not understand? You put some clothes on RIGHT NOW!"

"Why are you so uptight?" Sam asked, genuinely puzzled. "You're the one who's always telling me that the human body is a beautiful, natural thing, designed for doing beautiful, natural acts..."

"Sam," growled Dean, "I swear, you shake that at me ONE MORE TIME and I will cut it off..."

Sam just smiled, started to dance and broke into 'Blowin' In The Wind'.

"Sam!" barked Dean, "Get! Dressed! Right! Now!"

With a grin, Sam moved his sunflower from behind his ear to further south. "Ta-dah!"

Dean explained in blunt language that a strategically positioned sunflower did not constitute 'getting dressed'.

It was when Sam eyed him compassionately and announced "Somebody needs a hug," and grabbed Dean in a bear-hug, that Dean started screaming for Castiel.

The angel arrived just as Sam started massaging Dean's shoulders. "Wow, bro, you're really tense, you know, a massage would really help you loosen up, I've got some oil somewhere..."

_"CASTIEL!"_ screeched Dean, his voice hitting a pitch he hadn't managed since he was eight years old.

_Flap-flap_

"Hello Dean," intoned Castiel, cocking his head and observing the scene before him. "Why does Sam think he is a Cupid?" he asked.

Dean let out a small 'meep' noise - having his personal space invaded by a clueless angel and his _OH GOD NAKED_ brother both at once was burning out circuitry in his brain.

"Curse," he squeaked, "Heeeeeeelp meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

Castiel frowned slightly. studying Sam, who smiled back. "Hi, Cas!" he chirped. "Wanna help me give Dean a tantric massage?"

An expression of understanding dawned on the angel's face. "Ah. I can undo this," he announced. He grabbed hold of Sam's arm, stared at him intently, and commanded: "Samuel Winchester, cease this unseemly behaviour at once."

There was a small flash of light, Sam blinked twice, then his face went red, then chalk white, then beet red again. He let go of Dean.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!" he shrieked, grabbing a cushion to his nether region and sprinting for the cover of the bathroom.

Dean breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you. No, seriously, thank you, you were just in the nick of time." Sam continued to yodel in horror in the bathroom. "Er, Cas," asked Dean, "What exactly did you do there?"

Castiel explained: "I gripped him tight, and raised his inhibitions."


	11. The Boy Who Never Grew Up

It's been a while since I had a plot bunny bite for this one, but I has teh sick - I must be delirious. Or chocolate depleted. I plead diminished mental capacity, Your Honour. Those cold and flu meds can really do a number on your brain.

* * *

><p>"Are you done yet?" Sam called through the door. There was only silence. "Dean?"<p>

"I'm not doing this," his brother muttered back.

"Are you having difficulty with your costume, Dean?" asked Castiel. "If you require assistance, perhaps I could be of..."

"No!" snapped Dean. "I'm not doing this!"

"Dean, you're the only one of us who can," Sam reasoned, "We've been through this before, I'm too tall and will have to do the exorcism anyway, and Cas is too... well, too Cas-like."

"You told me Peter Pan is always played by a woman!" griped Dean.

"This particular production specified that the role would be filled by a man, which was suspicious to begin with," Castiel reminded him. "All the evidence points towards a member of the production team or cast being the octo-demoness who has been devouring attractive actors."

"So, how do we work out which one it is? You know, before I get devoured?" Dean asked.

"Cas will be prowling with his angel mojo looking for her. All you gotta do is distract her but stay out of the way of her tentacles, then once she manifests, I do the spell, and she's toast," Sam assured him.

"It would be a perfect plan," agreed Dean, "If it didn't involve me going out in public looking like this."

"I do not understand why you are so reluctant to be seen in costume," frowned Castiel, "You possess legs that are by human standards deemed to be attractively shapely for a man."

"I'm not coming out looking like thiiiiiiiis!" wailed Dean.

"Dean, we don't have time for you to have some sort of macho crisis here," huffed Sam.

"It's embarrassiiiiiing!" Dean complained.

_flap-flap_

Castiel disappeared briefly, then...

_flap-flap_

...Reappeared with Dean, resplendent in forest green outfit, including jaunty cap, pointed boots, worryingly short tunic and alarmingly tight leggings.

"I hate you both so much," he fumed.

**...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... **

After the first round of readings, Dean was one of a handful called back from the milling crowd of hopefuls. Sam lurked discreetly in the wings, while Castiel cased the theatre, as Dean took to the stage to read opposite Wendy, a young lady with pneumatic assets and a very skimpy nightie, and Tinkerbell, being played by a large man with a five-o'clock shadow and a rather grubby tutu.

"Peter! Peter!" cried Wendy, clutching Dean's arm, "Tinkerbell has been waving that wand around in public again!"

"Now, Tink," scolded Dean, "What have I told you about frightening the Lost Boys with your wand after dark?"

"I only wanted to entertain the little tykes, give them a laugh," explained Tinkerbell, moving his cigar to the other side of his mouth, "It glows in the dark, you know. I can do tricks with it!"

"You use it for... tricks?" Wendy echoed dubiously.

"Oh, yes," said Dean, "When Tinkerbell entertains the Lost Boys, that wand can do the most cunning stunts!"

"And when we're fighting Captain Hook's pirates," leered Tinkerbell, "I use it for... AAAAAAARGH!"

Dean peered at his script. "That's not the line," he complained, "You're supposed to say AAAAARGH!"

He pushed Tinkerbell out of the way as ghastly, disgusting tentacles suddenly erupted from beneath Wendy's nightie. Wendy cackled as her tentacles slithered out to wind around Dean's legs.

"Aaah, you will make such a delicious meal," the octo-demoness hissed malevolently, dragging him closer.

"Gaaaah! Saaaaaam!" yelled Dean, flailing ineffectively at the revolting appendages wound around his lower limbs, pulling him in towards the octo-demoness's cackling grin.

Sam began to read the banishing spell, but the octo-demoness was relentless, reeling Dean in, opening her mouth wide to reveal rows of serrated teeth.

"Saaaaaaaaaaaam!" howled Dean, prodding ineffectively at the writhing tentacles with his prop dagger. The octo-demoness smiled again, and prepared to bite into her juicy, tasty prey...

In a flap of avenging trench coat, Castiel descended from the flies on a wire, grabbed hold of Dean. With a sound of tearing fabric, the angel yanked his charge out of the clasp of the octo-demoness, and in fact out of his leggings. The last Sam saw, as he finished the spell and the screaming fugly disappeared in a puff of green ash, was Dean's bare legs disappearing back up into the flies. One stray thought popped into his head.

_Yeah, okay, boxers wouldn't really work under those leggings, but really, of all the days Dean could have chosen to go commando..._

"AAAAAAAAARGH!" shrieked Dean, trying to pull his ludicrously short tunic down to his knees, "AAAAAAARGH! CAS WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED?"

Castiel tilted his head, and answered.

"I ripped your tights, but raised you from audition."


	12. The Living Sex Clod

I blame this one on a friend who sent me a link alerting me to the existence of the most bizarre publication:  
>httpCOLONSLASHSLASH wwwDOT youtubeDOT comSLASH watch?v=mLUg_vNewkM<p>

I have led such a sheltered life...

* * *

><p>Sam let himself back into the motel room, noting the Impala's presence that indicated his brother had returned too. "I found three more cases just like it in the local paper's archives," he began, "It turns out HUH?"<p>

"Nrrrrrrrrrrrg," moaned Dean.

Sam often returned from a trip to a local library to whatever cruddy place they were staying in to find Dean sprawled on the bed. Sometimes he was sprawled with a magazine. Sometimes he was sprawled watching TV. Sometimes he was sprawled with packets of junk food. Occasionally, he was sprawled with a female companion.

This, however, was the first time he had found his brother sprawled, face down, clad in only his shorts, with heat packs apparently applied to every muscle group of his body and reeking of IcyHot, while Castiel proffered pills and water.

"Take these, Dean," the angel instructed, "The young lady at the pharmacy indicated that they would be effective in alleviating myalgia arising from cramps, aches, and minor muscle trauma resulting from sustained physical exertion." Dean moaned again, and turned his head just enough to accept the pills.

"Dean!" yelped Sam, bewildered. "I thought you'd still be, er, enjoying the company of, er, who was it, Cindy, Sandy...?"

"He did indeed go home with Sari Montague, for the purposes of casual fornication," intoned Castiel, managing to let only a slight hint of disapproval leak into his monotone. "As a result, he is now in considerable discomfort, having sustained microtearing of most of the major muscle groups."

"What the hell happened, bro?" asked Sam. "What the hell were you doing?"

"Research," groaned Dean, face-planting into his pillow.

"What?" demanded Sam. "What sort of research could possibly have reduced you to a Dean-shaped pile of ouch?"

"Ms Montague is a graphic arts graduate who works for a publishing house that specialises in adult books," Castiel informed him. "In the course of her employment, she is currently engaged in finalising the material for The Pop-Up Book Of Sex, Volume Three: Advanced Adventures. The editors were not convinced that all of the activities and configurations depicted were in fact possible for human beings who had not undergone replacement of various anatomical features with universal joints or titanium reinforcement. She showed Dean the proofs, and asked him what he thought."

Before Sam could shriek "Cas! Too! Much! Information!", the angel waved his hand and called forth a large square hard-back book.

"It was most foolish of you, Dean," the angel chided with a disapproving frown, opening the book. Sam's eyes bugged as a cardboard couple popped up off the page. "The crick in your neck from The Meticulous Maid And The New Vacuum Cleaner should have alerted you to the possibility of injury..."

It was like a train wreck; Sam's stomach lurched but he was unable to look away as Castiel turned the pages, chastising Dean in a voice that put him in mind of a teacher upbraiding a student for a badly written essay.

"The crepitus in your knees during The Sneaky Postman's Special Delivery should have been a warning sign... the rope burn from the Reverse Cowgirl Taming Bucking Bronco was avoidable, had you shown a little more self-control... you foolishly ignored the distinct twanging sensations in your left elbow, right shoulder and both earlobes during Fun Nun And The Enquiring Choirboy... the bruises you sustained from Spanky Hanky Panky would have signalled an end to the evening's activities for any rational person... "

"In other words," sighed Sam, the phrase 'waving a red rag at a bull' popping into his head, "You just had to go and try to prove them wrong, didn't you?"

"I was obliged to, Sam!" Dean turned his head with a wince to address his little brother. "It was a challenge, a slight, even, upon the prowess of the Living Sex God! With power comes great responsibility – I owed it to my fellow human beings to determine whether they really were impossible! Thousands, if not millions, of adventurous men and women could be depending on me!"

"Uh-huh," nodded Sam, "So, basically, you let your ego and Little Dean use all the blood and didn't leave enough to run your upstairs brain."

"It was great, Sammy,_ I_ was great," mused Dean wistfully, "And we nearly did it, then we got to page nineteen..."

"I'm not sure I need details," began Sam, but Castiel was already turning the pages...

Sam felt something go 'sproing-oing-oing-oing-oing' in his brain.

"What the hell is... _that_?" he squeaked, gawping in astonishment at the 3D depiction the popped up. "Is that... I mean, can the human body even... how many legs are there?... Wouldn't you throw up?... Oh my God, is that her... And his... like that?... In there?... Is that even_ legal_? Dean, you cannot possibly have tried to do this!"

"The Determined Octopus Explores The Emancipated Clam," groaned Dean.

"This was what Dean and Ms Montague were attempting when my attention was caught by Dean's physical distress," Castiel explained. "Unfortunately, once they had achieved congress, pre-existing muscle fatigue, as a result of previous exertion and instances of hyperflexion, gave rise to hypoxia and cation imbalance with resultant tetany and subsequent contusions and myalgia."

Sam's brain tried valiantly to decipher what the angel had just said. "Are you saying, they tried to do... that... and got... stuck?"

Castiel nodded. "He gripped her tight, then seized in that position."


	13. The Rose Between Two Thorns

"Okay, I think that the grave we're looking for is AAAIIEE!" Sam yelped as he made his way back into the motel room. "Er, oh, er, sorry," he mumbled, face reddening, "I, uh, didn't mean to interrupt anything…"

Castiel lay prone on one of the beds with his pants around his knees, while Dean froze, seated beside him, clutching a pair of tweezers.

"Er, this isn't what it looks like, Sammy," he assured his brother with an anxious smile.

"Um, what exactly do you think I think it looks like?" asked Sam, morbidly intrigued.

Castiel turned a patiently long-suffering expression to him. "Dean is assisting me, after my vessel sustained a most unfortunate set on injuries," he told Sam. "I have approximately two dozen thorns embedded in the skin of my vessel's buttocks, along with some abrasions and contusions to the area."

"Oh," Sam nodded vaguely. "That's… um, not good."

"I'm really sorry, Cas," Dean said sheepishly, "I never meant for you to fall over. I sure didn't mean for you to fall into a rosebush."

"In future, Dean, it would behoove you to consider the potential consequences of any action you might take, before you take it," suggested Castiel, in a slightly reproachful tone.

"You're not telling me he pushed you into a rosebush?" asked Sam incredulously.

"Of course not!" spluttered Dean angrily, reluctantly peering at the angel's nether regions and plucking another thorn. "I'd never do something so stupid!"

"Then what did you do?" Sam pressed.

Dean had the decency to look ashamed. "Well, you know how you were watching that documentary a couple of nights ago, the one about pattern recognition being wired into the human brain by evolution? How people jump if they see a piece of rope that looks like a snake, or a tangle of thread that looks like a spider, because their hindbrain recognises it as a potential threat before the higher thought processes can think about it?"

Sam narrowed his eyes suspiciously at his brother. "Yes, I remember."

"Well," Dean swallowed and went on nervously, "I wondered what would happen to a human vessel being occupied by an angel. You know, would the hindbrain react automatically, or would that be overridden by the angel mind inside? So, I decided to do… an experiment."

"An experiment," echoed Sam.

"He attempted to startle my vessel by dropping a very realistic artificial rendition of a large arachnid onto it," related Castiel.

"He dropped a rubber spider onto you?" checked Sam.

"No," answered Castiel, "It was not rubber. It was an exhibit prepared for the 'Creepy Critters' display at the library. While you and I were researching, Dean was… pilfering the exhibit."

"I didn't!" protested Dean, going after another thorn, "I didn't steal any exhibit! I just… borrowed it."

Sam glared at Dean. "Well, you can just go return it right now!" he scowled. "I just hope you haven't damaged it."

"I haven't!" Dean shot back, "It was meant to be a tactile exhibit! They were encouraging kids to pick it up! I'll just glue those legs back on, it will be good as new!"

"You can't just go around taking educational exhibits from libraries!" humphed Sam.

"I have already upbraided him thoroughly for the thoughtless nature of his conduct," Castiel assured him. "Apart from causing physical distress to my vessel, he has deprived the local children of their opportunity to view the arachnid exhibit, and learn more about the world around them. It is through such experiences that they may learn an appreciation of the wonder and diversity of my Father's work." He sounded more hurt and disappointed than angry, and Dean's expression suddenly resembled a dog who had been chastised for peeing on the carpet.

"Fine. So, now you're playing doctors with an Angel of the Lord. At least you're not here getting ready to rub in a handful of Hirudoid, I think I'd throw up." Sam sank into a chair and groaned, rubbing at his temples. "I think I have a headache coming on. What exactly happened, Dean?"

"Well," began Dean hesitantly, "We were in the park, watching that suspicious woman who's been cultivating occult herbs, hiding behind the rose bushes… well, technically, Cas was watching her, I was bored… and I got the spider out of my jacket, and dropped it onto his coat, and he saw it, and, well… it turns out, the vessel runs the show when it comes to pattern recognition of creepy crawlies. The next thing I know, he lets out a girly shriek that would do you credit, jumps about ten feet sideways, going ass first into a rose bush…"

Castiel winced as another thorn came out, and confirmed Dean's account.

"I slipped in fright, surprised by that… exhibition."

* * *

><p>I'm still feeling oogy, but back at work. I blame this one on a lack of caffeine, and brain damage brought on by a combination of a particularly tiresome meeting and not being permitted to slap somebody who desperately needs it...<p>

A little bit of sad news in Real Life; the dog who was the inspiration for Jimi Senior the Hellhound, a venerable old original gentle giant called Rory, died this week. He was 12, which is absolutely ancient for a Rottweiler. Magnificent innings for a magnificent old dog. Somehow, I like to think that he's up there driving poor Denariel, the Guardian of Companions, absolutely nuts with his soccer ball that he fetched obsessively. Maybe Francis of Assisi will help out again, and keep him occupied for a while. His 'son', Chopper, the adorable little munchkin who modeled for the pic of baby Jimi Junior in my profile pic (who's now around 130 lbs at least) is missing him, and they're thinking of getting him a puppy companion. Hopefully not one that runs through solid walls, and sets fire to things when he pees...


	14. Nanny Castiel

It's been a while since an 'I Gripped Him Tight' bunny bit me. This one jumped out of my tea mug this morning.

* * *

><p>In hindsight, sighed Sam, it was probably not the best idea to leave Dean in the care of Castiel. The angel was often barely able to take care of himself when he walked among humans. And Dean could take quite some, er, supervising, when he was feeling particularly reckless and impulsive.<p>

At the moment, seeing that Dean was currently about four years old again after annoying yet another witch – would he ever learn? – it was doubly inadvisable. Whether the witch had included a component of appalling behaviour in the spell, or whether it was just Dean on the rampage, the kid had turned out to be a real handful.

But Sam had needed to interview a couple of people if they were going to crack this case and get his big brother turned back into his adult self again, and Dean had started to scream that he was hungry and wanted food RIGHT NOW. Castiel had cocked his head and suggested that he could take Dean to get some lunch. "He is a four year old child, Sam, he needs patient but firm authority. I am an Angel of the Lord, a Warrior of Heaven. How difficult can it be?"

Famous last words.

He knew something was wrong the moment he set foot in the diner. A waitress, the woman behind the counter, and the other customers were trying not to look, and trying not to smirk or laugh openly, but the temper tantrum performance Dean was putting on was worthy of the most seasoned and spoiled soap opera starlet.

"I don't WANT a stupid sandwich!" the small and admittedly adorably cute boy shrieked, his face reddening in anger under his freckles, as he actually stamped his feet, "I want FRIES and some COOKIES and some PIE!"

"Those foodstuffs will not provide suitable nutrition for a child your age," Castiel told him sternly, keeping a firm hold on the screaming boy's hand. "You will consume a healthy lunch consisting of a sandwich, a piece of fruit, and juice. If your demeanour is adequately polite, you may have a small treat afterwards. Perhaps a cupcake."

"I don't want a frigging cupcake!" shouted Dean, flailing at Castiel with his other hand, "I WANT PIE!"

"Dean, cease your tantrum immediately," instructed Castiel.

"I WANT PIE!" Dean screamed.

"Dean, you will do as I tell you. I am your legitimate adult authority figure right now, and you will obey me," insisted the angel.

"Sandwiches taste like crap!" raged Dean, pounding at Castiel with his free hand. "Get me PIE!"

"This sort of language and behaviour is unacceptable, Dean," Castiel told him. "Stop it now."

"Shut up!" howled Dean, aiming a kick at the angel's shin, "GET ME PIE!"

"Dean, if you do not stop this unacceptable display of selfishness, rudeness and bad temper, it will be incumbent upon me to discipline you," Castiel warned.

"SCREW YOU, YOU DICK!" Dean screeched, aiming another kick, "I WANT SOME FUCKING PIE!"

"Er, Cas, maybe I should..." began Sam.

Before he finish that sentence, in a lightning move Castiel dropped to one knee, simultaneously pulling Dean across it, and...

_swat – swat – swat__ - swat_

The smacks landing on Dean's posterior rang out through the diner.

Dean's eyes bugged in shock, and he drew breath to start wailing at the top of his lungs.

Before he could even start, Castiel pulled him upright, stared into his brimming green eyes, and intoned,

"Dean Winchester, if you make another sound other than the words 'please' or 'thank you' for the next twenty minutes, I will, I believe the phrase is, 'give you something to really cry about'. Do you understand me?"

Dean gaped in horror, eyes wide, and drew in a couple of gasping breaths, but he nodded silently.

"Very well. We will take our seats, and await your food." Sam joined them as they made their way to a table. The other occupants of the diner gave Castiel a round of applause.

"That was some very impressive child-wrangling, Cas," smiled Sam, as Dean sat quietly.

"No child can be allowed to behave so badly and not be called out for it," said the angel seriously, "Disciplining them is ultimately for their own good. And I'm sure that Dean would much rather be well-behaved. Isn't that right, Dean?"

Dean nodded warily.

The waitress who brought their order out had been in the kitchen when Castiel had disciplined Dean. The boy thanked her politely as she put his sandwich down in front of him.

"Can't you just be a little angel when you want to?" she smiled at him. Dean gave her a tentative little smile back, then started on his sandwich.

The waitress laughed. "I wish you'd come over to my place some weekends, and deal with my grandchildren," she said to Castiel, "I don't know what you did, but it was obviously effective."

Castiel glanced down at Dean, with one of his barely-there Guardian Angel On Duty smiles, and replied.

"I gripped him tight, chastised him for sedition."


	15. The Living Sex Clod II

**THE EXPLANATION:** I have a bad knee. Sometimes it plays up badly. When that happens, I take fairly heavy duty analgesics. When that happens, well, this happens...

* * *

><p>The blonde and the brunette grappled fiercely, feet slipping in the jelly. Dean cheered on both participants, and took another drink of beer.<p>

"It's amazing," he turned to the woman who'd handed him another glass, raising his voice to be heard over the ruckus raised by the crowd of women cheering the wrestlers, "I've really never thought of jelly wrestling as a martial arts discipline."

"Oh, yes," she told him, "It is intended to show off a woman's beauty of form, fitness of physique, agility of mind, and courage of heart. It is intended to assist you in deciding whom you deem worthy."

The brunette pulled off a spectacular throw, hurling the blonde into the jelly. She grinned up at him, her ample chest heaving, and raised her arms in triumph. He raised his glass to her, and the crowd cheered wildly. In a gesture of arrogance, she tweaked the ties of her g-string, the only garment she was wearing, and sling-shotted it at him. The crowd loved it.

So did Dean. He felt euphoric. He stood, took another drink of the wonderful beer they'd been supplying him with all night, and signalled for silence.

"Ladies," he began, smiling, and wobbling slightly, "Tonight, we have seen some of the most spectacular jelly wrestling I have ever witnessed." He paused, and took another drink. "And I want you to know, that I think you are all winners!" The crowd cheered him heartily. "And since I find it impossible to choose from amongst such lovely, talented, and in some cases amazingly flexible women, I shall cater to you all! For I am the Living Sex God, and I find you all totally worthy!"

The women went wild.

**...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... **

The more Sam read, the more alarmed he became.

"Cas, this is bad, really bad," he said anxiously, "They call themselves the Order of Occult Amazons. Every seven years, they hold what they call the Rite of Coitus. It's held at a very specific time, at which as many of them as possible conceive children who will have great occult talent... they scout out a ritual mate, they call him The Virile Man. Says here, he must be 'of physical beauty and strength, with great prowess and natural stamina.' Then they feed him this specially brewed beer, and, and, oh, God, look at this."

Castiel scanned the recipe for the brew. "It's an euphoric stimulant concoction that mimics the brain chemistry of marsupial mice, which means... the man they choose has sex with successive women until he expires from exhaustion."

"He's been gone for more than 24 hours, Cas," yelped Sam, "We have to find him! You have to find him, Cas! Before he screws himself to death!"

**...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... **

Senior Sister Beatrice smiled to herself. She might be thirty years too old to take part in the Rite Of Coitus, but she could still appreciate the fine specimen that a younger member of the Order had procured. He was definitely handsome, and well built. Better yet, Sister Kerryn, who had identified him, had hinted at extraordinary prowess and stamina, and also quite an imagination. Only two out of three were really necessary, but was it really such a bad thing if he was good at it, too? Kerryn had done very well, indeed. He was certainly showing another sort of stamina; he'd drunk more of the beer than any other man could ingest and remain conscious, yet the Rite Of Coitus was well underway and proceeding most satisfactorily.

She took a discreet peek into the curtained bower; after several hours, he was only just starting to show signs of flagging. There would be many beautiful, talented children...

**...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... **

_flap-flap_

Long acquaintance with Dean meant that Castiel recognised exactly what the noises within the bower meant. Resolutely, he stepped through the curtaining.

"Dean, these women have bewitched you with a poisonous beer," he intoned seriously, "They will force you to fornicate yourself to death. You must stop this at once, and leave with me."

The Virile Man kept right on doing what - or whom - he was doing.

Castiel explained. Castiel pleaded. Castiel insisted sternly. Castiel reasoned. Castiel begged.

Nothing worked. The Living Sex God was in The Zone.

"I am sorry, Dean, but this is for your own good."

Castiel grabbed hold of Dean, and pulled...

**...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... **

"Yeeeeerrrrrrgl," rasped Dean, forcing open his sticky eyes, and moaning as the morning light hit them.

"Dean!" Sam was at his side, holding a bottle of water and some pills. "How are you feeling?"

"Like hammered shit," he croaked. And he did. Everything hurt. His head hurt, his muscles ached, and, and...

"Aaaaaargh!" he clutched at his groin. "Aaaaaaaaaargh!"

"You got some serious chafing," Sam told him, handing over another ice pack. "Cas got to you just in time."

"Your physiology was badly perturbed," the angel added. "Much longer, and you would have fornicated yourself to death."

Pieces of recollection came back to Dean. The attractive woman... the invitation to the jelly wrestling...the request to be a judge.. the marvellous beer that made him feel invincible... the parade of women requiring the services of the Living Sex God... and then...

"Aaaaaaaaargh!" he went again, clutching the ice pack in place. "Cas, what the hell did you do?"

Castiel fixed him with a resolute stare.

"I gripped you tight, and prised you from coition."

* * *

><p>I am so ashamed.<p> 


End file.
